you're cold and i burn
by whiskereddiatribe
Summary: His paper-white skin lent him a monochromatic appearance, and she paused briefly to admire the elegance his expression took away from. College AU
1. for crying out loud

Hermione Granger, despite her almost disgusting optimism, knew that life wasn't fair.

She was first acquainted with this when she was in the first grade and she was made fun of because her teeth were overly-large, even though she was smarter than anyone else in her grade. She was reminded of the fact in eighth grade, when she found out her only friend had began spreading rumors about her when she got a better grade on a test than she did; telling classmates she had no friends because she read all the time. She was further advised of it when, in her junior year of high school, her boyfriend broke up with her because she had been seen talking to one Viktor Krum, even though he was only asking to borrow a copy of her notes.

Yes, she was no stranger to unfairness.

So, when Minerva McGonagall, chair to the English department, called her into her office and told her she would no longer be able to serve as teaching assistant to Professor Vector, she was surprised to feel her throat begin to constrict and the heavy feeling of disappoint sink through her belly.

"I don't understand," she started, twisting her hands together in her lap. "I was just in contact with Professor Vector last week, she said everything was worked out already." Her eyebrows knitted together, and she peered up at McGonagall with confused brown eyes.

McGonagall was a severe woman, graying auburn hair pulled tightly into a bun. She had sharp eyes that were often found narrowed at students causing mischief in the hallways. Few knew the gentleness they had the potential to hold. Hermione had experienced it only once – a few weeks ago, when Hermione hesitantly explained her reasons for not pursuing her master's degree in the same field as she had gotten her bachelor's.

Now, the older woman sighed, looking over thin lenses at her, though not unkindly. She spoke in a clipped brogue, giving the impression of someone who had a very tough life, but still managed grace.

"The dean is getting pressured from the board to accept more international students to the positions. There was one student who the board seemed to want to push on us. She was very well qualified for the role, and I couldn't deny them." Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but McGonagall went on in an authoritative tone. "You come from an unusual background, as far as the English program is concerned. I hate to bring up bad memories, but not many students change directions completely when they go to pursue a higher degree," she eyed Hermione, speaking matter-of-factly. "You're very bright, and you will continue to be, not just in Professor Vector's classroom. We feel confident that you could be successful assisting this particular teacher."

It was a testament to Hermione's objection of this that she didn't even feel the warm glow of praise like she usually did. All she could think about, rather, was where this was leading.

She had chosen Brown for her master's for their excellent English program, and quickly found a confidant in Professor Septima Vector. She was looking forward to taking on the role of teaching assistant to the woman, a feeling of belonging settling over her when she finally left Septima's office the week prior. The world had seemed so much brighter – she couldn't help but smile all the way back to the apartment she shared with Ginny Weasley.

That feeling of belonging, so recent, now slipping through her fingers, just made Hermione more bitter.

She spoke slowly, her mind desperately trying to piece the news together. "I…won't be able to work with Se- Professor Vector," she began. "But I will still be an assistant?" McGonagall seemed relieved she understood, clasping her hands on the desk in front of her.

"Yes, Miss Granger. If you wish to – I think I can speak for all of my fellow faculty when I say we understand if you choose to not accept. That being said, it would be a great loss to the school. I personally believe you'll be a valuable resource in helping to teach our students, and a credit to us all. I am quite confident you'll do a superb job of it." The Scottish woman gave her a small smile now. Hermione minutely raised the corners of her mouth, looking away.

"Who," she took a deep breath, trying to focus. "Who will I be assisting? If I choose to accept," she added hastily. She thinks Minerva hides another smile, but her mind is turning too quickly to pay much attention.

"Are you familiar with anyone from the chemistry department?"

Hermione doesn't bother to hide her surprise. No, she wasn't familiar with the faculty – not here. Her bachelor's degree had been received in Chemical Biology, true, but she was pursuing a graduate degree in Literary Arts. Simple, safe, Literary Arts. She had no inclination to return to the science field – it brought too much else with it. She let McGonagall know as much.

"I realize the situation isn't ideal," Hermione barked out a mirthless laugh at this. "But my hands are tied. As it happens, one of our professors just…lost his own assistant, through an unfortunate turn of events. Regrettably, all of the other positions have been filled. If you still wish to TA, this is the only option."

McGonagall's words echoed in her head. She felt like she was a grain of sand being blown about the desert, nothing but wasteland around her, and with no way to stop. She was pulled back to reality when she heard a throat being cleared.

"Miss Granger, if you need some time to decide…"

"No, I just- "she mumbled. When she spoke again, her voice was clearer. "Who is the professor?" McGonagall definitely smiled this time, a shallow attempt at encouragement.

"Professor Severus Snape."

* * *

Ginerva Weasley looked horrorstruck. "_Snape?"_ she asked, incredulous. "_Severus Snape?_ The chemistry teacher? The greasy bat himself? H, you can't agree to this."

Hermione had known the younger girl since high school. Her brother Ron used to be one of her best friends, but she had never developed a close relationship with Ginny herself. They had fallen out of contact after graduation, as Ginny was just beginning her senior year when Hermione had left. The redhead was a senior in college now - Ginny had chosen Brown University for undergrad while Hermione had gone to Stanford. They had run into each other while Hermione was taking a tour of the school over the summer and caught up quickly, finding more common ground than they had as teenagers. As a result of Ginny's undergraduate studies, she was (apparently regrettably) familiar with the chemistry teacher in question.

Her roommate had been in the kitchen, listening to some pop siren go on about her favorite things, or _rings for her bitches, _or _something _to that effect when Hermione stumbled in the door, numb. Ginny, predictably, had been concerned, pouring the girl a half coffee mug of boxed red wine and leading her to a barstool.

Ginny patted her shoulder consolingly for a moment before she returned to the stir-fry on the stove, flicking back her blowout. Glancing back at Hermione periodically, she listened as the brunette had explained the days events to her friend. At the end, Ginny was incensed, her brown eyes flashing.

"How is any part of this situation fair? Just because some _bitch _decides that she all of a sudden wants to come study here doesn't mean that you have to give up your position. I mean, why not put _her _in Snape's classroom? Serves her right for being such a high brow _cu-"_

"Ginny," Hermione interrupted her wearily. "I get it. I mean, I understand it; I don't think it's right, either. But really, what's the worst that happens? The professor will probably just have me grading papers or teaching a lesson here or there. I don't have to switch my major. I need the money. It's not the end of the world." She rubbed her temple, willing the day to disappear. She held out her mug towards Ginny to put in the sink, but Ginny refilled it instead, nudging it back. "At least I still _have _a position. I thought Professor McGonagall was going to tell me I had lost it, somehow." Ginny gave her a sympathetic smile and – despite Hermione's hesitant look, topped the mug off, and then rolled her eyes.

"As if, golden girl. You're probably the smartest girl in our entire class, they wouldn't in a million years. Still, you're right – it could be worse. Even if that is hard to imagine…" She fake-shuddered. "Snape; I took his class back when I was a freshman. You know what he did?" Hermione looked up from contemplating her mug of _Franzia. _"There was a student who was sick – like, not hungover, actually sick. The kid –Cormac McLaggen, I think? – he came to Snape's class anyway, because Snape would have taken points off of him for not attending, the great grouchy ass. Anyway, the poor guy _threw up _on Snape's shoes. Couldn't help himself – he had the worst kind of flu. Snape had him suspended! I don't even know how he did it, but when he came back, he ended up failing Snape's class somehow. He wasn't a bad student before that! I think the bat just had it out for him."

Hermione took in all of this silently, staring blankly at the backsplash behind Ginny. The redhead began to realize her mistake.

"Not that he's all bad! I mean, he could be worse. Definitely worse. I passed his class!" She said, faux-cheerily; unconvincingly.

Hermione slumped in her chair, and Ginny refilled her mug again.

* * *

The morning did not meet Hermione well.

She woke to a too-loud alarm and attempted to focus her mind on the morning. She struggled to make her head meet where her body felt; McGonagall, sitting, talking, _Snape, _sitting, talking, drinking, _oh_, that explained it.

At least it's Saturday, she mused, staring up at the white popcorn ceiling. She could still hear Spotify outside in the living room; they clearly didn't remember to turn it off last night. It was playing _Ed Sheeran_ and Hermione grimaced.

She pushed herself out of bed, shuffled to the bathroom and yanked a drawer open to get some ibuprofen. She made her way to the kitchen where she filled up a glass of water out of the tap and threw back the two small pills, switching off the speaker after.

Ginny stumbled out of her bedroom not much longer after that with shiny red hair sticking up every which way and a face a shade paler than usual. Hermione smiled through her own hangover.

"Morning," she supplied, gesturing towards the medicine she left on the counter. Ginny replied with something that might have been construed as a good morning if Hermione had listened very carefully.

Tossing back the pills and washing them down with orange juice, Ginny gave a small chuckle.

"What's got you laughing this morning?"

"Maybe in between mixing up concoctions with Snape you can come up with some kind of hangover cure." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I have no desire to go near any extra chemicals than I have to."

Ginny shrugged. "Maybe not. You might enjoy it, though. You _have _had a break from it all." She opened the cabinet, pulling down the bag of Columbian coffee, and frowned when it proved to be empty. "Boo."

Hermione sighed, thinking she could feel her headache coming back. "Gin, I don't want to talk about it. I gave it up for a reason, I won't go back to it. I can't," she added, sounding resigned. The younger girl held up her hands, and made a face that conveyed she would, in fact, leave it alone. She turned back towards the silver bag and frowned.

"I can run out. Cream and sugar?" Hermione got up off the stool and headed towards the bathroom.

"Yes, please, you're lovely."

Hermione showered and dressed in jeans and a dark blue sweater. She started to look for a hair tie but forgot her mission quickly, smoothing her damp hair down with her hands and thinking it would dry quicker if it were left down. "I'll be back," she called behind her to the near-comatose Ginny, who had taken to doing her very best slug impression on the couch. She heard a muffled reply before she closed the door behind her.

The temperature had begun to drop, and it was a dreary September day. There were students everywhere; clingy parents hovering around some of the younger ones. They stood in small groups and the sight sent pangs of jealousy through her.

Her parents had been in Australia doing research for earlier detection of oral cancer. She had found this out her third year of college, her mother's powdery kiss alighting against her cheek.

"We'll be back before you know it, honey," she had said, her own honeyed-brown eyes staring into Hermione's. Her father had given her a supportive smile from over her mom's shoulder, and she could still feel the way her throat closed up. "You won't even have time to miss us! We're so proud of you, it sounds like you're having a great time in school."

Her mother pulled back, her father taking her place. He crushed her to him and she inhaled, smelling the scent of her father's cologne. "We love you, Hermione. Don't forget that. We'll be back soon." Hermione had nodded, and tears had threatened to spill over her eyelashes.

That had been nearly two years ago, and she still thought of them daily.

Shaking her head to rid herself of such sad thoughts so early in the morning, she stepped into the campus Starbucks. It was bustling with activity, and she just narrowly avoided being walked into by a tall boy with blonde hair, gesturing with one hand and clutching his paper cup with the other. Sending a glare at his back, she got into line and looked around the room, an angry voice catching her attention.

"Which part of extra-dry escaped you?" the voice all but growled, and surprised, Hermione sought the source.

A tall, thin man lingered by the drink pick-up counter; his black eyes fixed on one of the baristas. His equally dark eyebrows were furrowed in a scowl, slamming the white cup down on the bar. The barista mumbled something back, snatching the cup off the counter. His eyes narrowed with anger and he crossed his arms, apparently waiting.

Hermione couldn't look away. His raven-black hair was shoulder length, and he wore black pants topped with a crisp white button-down. A black jacket completed the ensemble. His paper-white skin lent him a monochromatic appearance, and she paused briefly to admire the elegance his expression took away from.

"Miss?" a far-away voice said, and she found herself back in reality.

"Sorry," she rushed out, stepping forward. "Um, one venti coffee, room for cream, and a grande cappuccino please." She paid by way of debit card, sneaking another glance at the dark figure as she waited for the payment to process. He looked impatient.

"You can take your card out now," the voice said, patiently, a contrast to the object of her attentions. She jumped a little and turned slightly pink, muttering another apology. The barista leaned in and spoke conspiratorially. "That's okay. He always draws a scene. Most of us are used to it, though."

Hermione looked up in alarm, seeing the barista for the first time. A lanky boy smiled back at her; his green eyes friendly. She smiled back, instinctively.

"Sorry again," she said, turning up her lips again, taking the steaming coffee from the young man. She berated herself for her inattention, walking over to stand a few feet away from the raging customer. She still watched him as she poured cream into Ginny's light roast, eventually ripping open a packet of sugar. It tore too quickly, and the granules scattered everywhere. She cursed softly to herself, using her hand to herd the particulates into a napkin. She focused her attention on the task and was startled when a pale hand reached nearly over her to grab a packet of sugar. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be in your wa-" she cut herself off, eyes widening when she realized whose hand it was so close to her.

The dark-haired man sneered at her from above, quickly stirring the sugar into his now-presumably-dryer cappuccino. An electric jolt ran through Hermione as she stared into the glittering, black abyss of his eyes.

"And yet, you are," he ground out, not sparing her another glance as he swept from the café, affixing the rest of the patrons with glares.

Hermione stood, stunned, napkin full of sugar in her closed fist. Realizing herself, she snapped back to attention, depositing the mess she made in the trash, and exited the establishment as well.

The _nerve_, she thought, briskly making her way back to her car. The_ nerve_ of some people, to treat people the way they did. Honestly, _who did he think he was?_

* * *

She shared her thoughts with Ginny, who looked marginally more awake when she entered the apartment. They moved to the small patio overlooking the street at their apartment, settling in worn metal chairs – a gift from Ginny's mother. She was still seething, her teeth grinding more furiously than ever; the result of a drive home long enough for the indignation to fester and settle within her.

Her companion looked amused. "So what? There was a douche at Starbucks. Why are you so upset?"

Hermione found she couldn't answer this question. She looked out over the cars passing instead, trying to calm herself.

"He just," she exhaled a pent-up breath. "He was just so _mean, _you know? Like we were scum of the earth or something. How dare we ruin his morning coffee?" Ginny was looking at her phone now and occasionally tapped the screen as she scrolled. She made a sympathetic noise. "I don't understand it. I guess it's not a big deal. It's whatever," she added, mostly for her own benefit. It was the last weekend before school started anew, her penultimate year of higher education. She would spend the next two days perusing her textbooks, drinking tea and definitely _not _thinking of her job on Monday or her encounter with the angry patron at the café.

And then she thought of the way his long fingers reached over her to pluck the white packet from its siblings, and she was angry all over again for a different reason.

The weekend passed easily, Ginny sprawled out on the couch until Sunday night, on a Netflix binge. Hermione sat on the ground in front of the sofa reading through her books, contented with the company. She now had a chemistry textbook open on her lap, mouthing familiar words silently as she read along. Ginny had asked if she wanted to accompany her to the campus bookstore to buy her own texts; Hermione hadn't needed much convincing. Her own copy of the book was miles away in town, hidden in a cardboard box, existing in the climate-controlled purgatory of a storage unit.

She found it hard to focus on her text now though, as the hours slipped by. Ginny was onto _John Wick 2_ and she only momentarily appreciated the handsome figure of Keanu Reeves. She was more focused on tomorrow – on the mysterious professor she had heard so much about from her roommate.

She couldn't help but wonder if he would be _that bad_, or if the past weekend has just been Ginny over-exaggerating. Stubbornly, she repeated her mantra in her head: it's only part time, he might not even want her to help that much – it will _not _be that bad. She wondered if she would think of this mantra ironically come this time next weekend.

"Gin," she started. The younger woman tore her eyes away from the television and looked at her blearily. "Is Professor Snape as bad as you make him out to be?"

Ginny snorted quietly, briefly returning her attention to Keanu. She sighed and paused the movie.

"Honestly? He's a dick. On his best days he's just mean; on his worst, he's an asshole." Ginny watched as her friend's face fell. "_But,_" she went on, "he's pretty fair. He won't fail you unless you deserve it." Hermione looked a little relieved at that, but she scrunched her face up again.

"What about McLaggen? Did he deserve it?"

Ginny grimaced. "Well, Snape thought he deserved it, at least."

Hermione sighed heavily and returned to her textbook, still not managing to absorb the words. Ginny un-paused the movie.

It will _not _be that bad, she told herself, starting at the top of the page again.

* * *

Hermione woke with a start, dread settling into her bones almost immediately. She shut her alarm off and swung her legs over the twin mattress, staring at the wall ahead of her. She inhaled once and held it; exhaling resolve a moment later.

She dressed conservatively in a white blouse and jeans, a dark green cardigan over top. She dried her hair today, slicking the curls back into a half-up, half-down style that lent the appearance of style while still keeping her face free of flyaways. Passing a bleary-eyed Ginny in the kitchen, she poured a cup of coffee and left her apartment.

Her first class passed slowly; Hermione kept checking her watch, tapping her foot against the carpeted lecture hall floor. She took notes religiously, naturally, but she couldn't keep her mind from wandering to the professor she would be meeting the period after next. Would he be as mean as Ginny made him out to be? Would he be worse? What was Professor McGonagall thinking? Could she do this? Who was the man in the coffee shop?

The class ended, and she blinked, stunned. Gathering her things, she shook her head; where had the intrusive thoughts about the dark man came from? She thought about this walking to her next class, so engrossed that she didn't hear the heavy footfalls behind her.

"Hey," a masculine voice said, breathlessly. She looked around, her eyes finally landing on a dark-haired boy with vivid green eyes. She recognized him as the barista from the campus Starbucks.

"Oh, hey," she replied, smiling genuinely, if not a little confused. "I remember you." The boy gave her a lopsided smile.

"Hey, I'm Harry. You were in Starbucks the other day, right?" The boy had a sweet smile; unguarded; mischievous. Hermione couldn't look away from his eyes.

"Yeah, you work there, don't you? I'm Hermione. Granger," she added, a little late to seem smooth. The boy – _Harry _– still smiled at her.

"Harry Potter," he supplied, and held out a hand affably. She grasped it and marveled at how warm he was. "It's nice to meet you. Actually, meet you," he added.

"It's nice to meet you too. You're a student here, then?"

"Yeah. I was in your last class; we both have Flitwick."

Hermione looked sheepish. "Sorry, I didn't even notice. I guess I was too busy paying attention to the lecture," she tried to amend. Harry just shook his head, and a small smile still played on his lips.

"It's fine, really. I was sitting in the back, anyway. You wouldn't have seen me, sitting all the way in the front," he teased, falling into stride with her. "Where are you headed next?"

"Um, Trelawney." Harry grinned. "What?"

"I've heard about her. Supposed to be really odd – she doesn't even teach the material. Just goes off on tangents talking about gossip magazines." Hermione frowned.

"I like to give every professor a chance; rumors can be just that. Still, though, I hope that isn't the case."

Harry shrugged, grinning. He changed the subject to whether or not she likes Brown, and the two walked and talked amiably until they parted ways outside Trelawney's class, becoming fast friends.

The anxiety returned to Hermione when Trelawney dismissed her class, and she was relieved when she saw Harry outside. Noticing the expression on her face, he smiled. "Not thinking about whether or not the year of the pig _really _means you're destined for a gruesome death, I hope?" Hermione managed a smile through her nerves.

"No – no, I'm a TA. I'm meeting the professor for the first time this period." Harry looked at her, confused.

"You mean you haven't met with them before?"

"No, it was… an unusual situation." Her companion ran a hand through his messy hair, making a noise of surprise.

"Who is it?" He finally asked, just as Hermione thought to begin making her goodbyes.

"Professor Snape," she said quickly, already starting to turn away. "Thank you so much for ta-" She stopped when she saw Harry had halted, his green eyes widened in shock at her.

"WHAT?" He nearly shouted, and Hermione didn't think she'd ever forget the look of rage on his face. She wanted to analyze this; wanted to ask him why, but the fear of being late overrode her shock, and she found herself walking away, still speaking to him.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I have to go. Good luck! I'll see you in class!" She turned around once more to look at him, questioningly, but he had looked away now, his fists bunched up. She didn't understand.

She still thought about it walking down a quiet hallway, the bare white walls very reminiscent of a hospital. Sterile, clean, and lacking any warmth whatsoever. She hurried until she found a plaque designating a door as room 3094. She was early – good, she thought, it will give her time to hopefully introduce herself to the professor. She gently pushed down on the handle and let herself in.

The room was as equally bare as the rest of the hallway, lending no hints as to the personality of the professor within. Twelve black and white tables stood in the room, lined up 6 times in rows of 2. Two worn wooden desks adorned the front of the room, standing in front of a large whiteboard that covered the length of the wall. One had neat piles of paper stacked on it, a small black mug full of pens sitting in the left corner. The other was bare. She took a step towards the bare one, intent on setting her things down on it, when a door behind the other desk was flung open.

She only had time to spin around, gasping, before she's met with a flurry of dark fabric. Two glittering black eyes trapped her in place.

Her heart seized with fear and skipped a beat upon recognition.

"You," she breathed.

* * *

a/n: if you spot any errors, let me know! title from the 1975's _settle down._


	2. do you get what i mean now?

It was the angry patron from Starbucks. He stopped behind his desk, and his long fingertips grazed the top of it as he affixed her with a glare.

"Yes, me," he agreed, sneering. "I am Professor Severus Snape. I'm assuming you're the unlucky graduate to be coerced into assisting me this year. I can assure you; I return whatever sentiment you're feeling, and I have no more desire than you to suffer our mutual presence."

Hermione inadvertently took a step back, her near-frozen legs just barely cooperating with her. "I – I'm sorry, sir" she stammered out, her mind drawing a blank. She was familiar with all kinds of professors – the chatty ones, the lazy ones, the ones who had their pet students, the strict ones, even the wildly inappropriate ones. She was not, however, familiar with the variety that introduced themselves by spitting out vitriol at her.

She glanced around instinctively, every nerve in her body advising her against looking at him in those black eyes. She could hear him scoff at her apologies.

"Sir, I –"

He interrupted her. "I understand you have a degree in Chemical Biology. Do not make the mistake of thinking that means anything to me. Until you have proven yourself – _if _you prove yourself – you are nothing more to me than the rest of my students. You will do no more than grade freshman lab reports until I deem you fit to handle anything more complicated, _am I clear?" _

Hermione stood, tears threatening to spill over her eyes. She thought of a million things in that instant. She thought of McGonagall, and how the teacher forced this position on her. She thought of Ginny, who was most definitely _not _exaggerating when she spoke about how horrible the man in front of her was. She thought of Harry, the twisted look of rage on his face when she mentioned Professor Snape. She thought of her parents, and how ecstatic they had been when she told them she was going to pursue a science degree.

She thought of the angry, elegant man in the coffee shop, and she finally felt fury bubble up within her, lending her self-righteous fuel.

"Yes," she said through clenched teeth. "You have made things quite clear for me, thank you." Her body jerked as she took steps closer to his desk, adrenaline coursing through her. "How would you like me to begin assisting you, _sir?"_ She moved closer until she was standing in front of his desk, a mere 16 _infuriating_ inches from his tense figure.

They stared at each other; Snape with an expression of controlled disdain on his face, and Hermione, shaking (though whether with fear or anger, she wasn't sure), biting down on her lip.

Snape was the first to speak. "Sit," he commanded, curtly, gesturing towards the other wooden desk in the room. Hermione didn't move for a long moment, still regarding him with narrowed eyes. She finally dragged herself away, yanking out the wooden chair at her desk more forcefully than necessary. She sat down and turned towards him, arms crossed. He spoke again, calmer, but she could still hear the prejudice in his voice.

"My office hour is from five to six on Wednesday evenings. You will need to be available from four to five that same afternoon. In addition, you will pick one hour on two other days and make yourself available. Attendance in this lecture is non-negotiable, as is the practical lab on Friday's at six p.m. Do you understand?" He wasn't looking at her now; instead his eyes flicked around the room, as if sizing it up. "I'm sure Professor –" his lip curled slightly. "McGonagall has adjusted your schedule accordingly. Is this correct?"

Hermione nodded, swallowing any further comment, though she'd like to say something about his _one office hour_.

"We shall discuss further responsibilities later," he says, dragging out 'later' as if he didn't expect her to make it that far. She felt like this was reasonable.

Snape abruptly began shuffling papers, delivering a swift end to the one-sided conversation. Almost on cue the door was opened, and a few students trickled in, taking seats as far away from the front as possible. Hermione obviously wasn't the only one who had heard stories of the professor.

He didn't speak to her for the rest of the class except to pass her a stack of syllabi, requesting briskly that she hand them out. Resuming her seat, she watched him while taking her own notes.

He spoke tonelessly, for the most part. She knew from their first two meetings that he could speak with passion when he wanted to – so far, only when he was angry, which seemed to be the vast majority of the time. The students were quiet, either in awe or fear; the latter, she guessed.

Away from his intense gaze, she focused on his hands almost immediately. He was always doing something with his hands. When he paced the room, he nearly always had them clasped behind his back. Leaning against his desk, he still had them wrung together, but it didn't give off the impression of fidgeting. She stared openly at the pale fingers gliding over one another. He wasn't your typical college professor, that much was obvious.

She examined his features through the curtain of her hair. He was almost dressed the same today as he was in the café. He favored dark colors, it seemed, dressed today in a black shirt and black pants. _Black heart, _a voice inside her said, and she smiled to herself.

"Miss Granger," an icy voice rang out, sending an electric shock of _oh, fuck_ through her. Her golden-brown eyes snapped up to meet Snape's black ones and she inadvertently cringed under the intensity. "While I'm flattered you want to spend the rest of your day in my class, I have things to do besides babysit."

Hermione, panicking, glanced around to find the classroom empty. The door was just closing from the last student who had exited, and she flushed. Grabbing her notes and not bothering to put them away, she picked up her bag and went to exit, pausing as she heard her professor's voice once more.

"Miss Granger?"

She didn't look back, but that didn't seem to matter, as he went on.

"If you continue to daydream in my class, I _will _have you fired."

Hermione nodded sharply and fled from the room, thankful that she was free for the day to go back home.

She made it to her car before she broke down in sobs, ignoring the stares from the students in the parking lot around her.

* * *

When Ginny came home from class later that afternoon, Hermione had already started on her assignments. Her frizzy hair was pulled up into a bun and she was furiously typing on her laptop, perched on a stool in the kitchen. The younger girl gave her a knowing look, tactfully choosing to not bring up the subject of how her classes went. Instead, she brought up Hermione's plans for the weekend.

"Do you have any, yet? Lee Jordan invited me to a party that one of the fraternities is having. I bet it'd be great to get your mind off of things." Hermione glanced up sharply at her. "Like homework, and things. Not any people in particular." Hermione briefly stopped typing, squared her shoulders a bit, and resumed banging away on the keyboard.

"No," she muttered. "I haven't thought about this weekend. I have a lot of homework, you know. It's going to be hard for me to do my own coursework _and _stay focused on an entirely different subject too." She seemed to type faster. Ginny gave a small hum and tried a different tactic.

"It would be a good place to meet people. I could introduce you to all my friends. I think Cho might be in the English program, too, maybe she could help you with your homework," she said, innocently. Hermione stopped typing again. She exhaled a pent-up breath and opened her mouth as if to say something, and then began her efforts on the computer once more. "H…."

Hermione stopped suddenly and slammed her laptop shut. "_What, _Ginny? I'm _clearly _trying to get something accomplished, so whatever you're trying to not say - unsuccessfully, by the way – just spit it out." She bit her lip, evidently wanting to continue her tirade, but restrained herself. At seeing Ginny's abashed face, she pinkened.

"Look, I'm sorry," she mumbled. "It's just been a trying day."

Ginny leaned opposite from her against the kitchen counter, clasping her hands. "I get it. I mean, I'm dying to know though. How did it go? Really?" Hermione crossed her arms, and then immediately uncrossed them back, choosing to put her head in her hands instead.

"He told me he didn't care about my degree. He said he's going to have me grading freshman papers until I 'prove myself to him' or some – some _bullshit_ like that." She conveniently left out the part of how he caught her daydreaming about his hands. "I don't hate people, as a rule, but I think I actually hate him." She nodded to herself at the end, seeming thoughtful.

"I hate him too, if that helps."

"You know what? It kind of does."

There was a short silence, both girls absorbed in their thoughts. Ginny was the first to break it.

"Will you come to that party with me Saturday? Please?" Hermione sighed, and Ginny took the fact that she didn't outright say 'no' as encouragement. "Come on – just this time. I'll never ask again, pleasepleaseplea-"

"Fine!" she sputtered, throwing up her hands. "If you promise – PROMISE – to let me finish this in peace." She opened her laptop back up and fixed Ginny with a faux-glare from over top of it. The redhead grinned.

"I love you!" She chirped, flittering around the counter to give Hermione an overzealous hug and kissing her soundly on the cheek. Hermione couldn't help but give an amused huff, rolling her eyes. "D'you mind if I put music on?"

"Something quiet," she replied absently, already sinking back into the literature on her screen, her mind more at ease than it had been.

* * *

Tuesday wasn't much better to her.

She walked into her 8am _Pedagogy and Composition Theory _class; the one she would have been assisting Professor Vector in, had she not been _royally screwed over _(her new description of the past four days' worth of events) by McGonagall. She arrived early, hoping to talk to Septima, but she found someone had beat her to it.

A tall figure with waist-length blonde hair was talking animatedly to her ex-almost-boss. Hermione could hear the traces of an accent – _French? _She wondered, frowning at the newcomer.

Septima, thankfully, noticed her entrance.

"Hermione!" she called, warmly, beckoning her to come closer. The stranger turned around, giving Hermione a frosty look.

She was pretty sure the girl had just come from some kind of Victoria's Secret casting call; despite her frigid expression, she emanated beauty. She had delicate features, high cheekbones and full, petal-pink lips. Her eyes were a clear ocean blue, and Hermione disliked her almost immediately.

"Professor," she greeted, smiling, despite Doutzen Kroes glaring at her. "It's so good to see you." The older woman got up from behind her desk and embraced her, whispering "we'll talk later" in her ear.

"How have you been?" Before she could reply, Septima seemed to catch herself. "Oh, excuse my forgetfulness. Hermione, this is Fleur Delacour. She will be taking over the role of TA in my classroom this year." Fleur looked down and seemed to sniff at her.

"Hello," she said, holding out a manicured hand. "Eet is nice to 'av met you". Hermione returned the gesture with as much enthusiasm.

"Pleasure," she said crisply, returning her attention to the professor. "I've been well, what about you?"

The woman's reply was cut short as a slight, dark-haired girl came into the room and sat down. Septima smiled apologetically at Hermione, her eyes promising _'later'_. Hermione sighed and found a seat near the front of the room, glancing wistfully at the second desk near the Professor's, and narrowing her eyes at Fleur.

The lesson passed slowly. When Septima introduced Fleur, Hermione stubbornly kept her eyes cast forward at her screen, typing nonsense and then deleting it, just to give the (admittedly, petty) impression that she didn't care. Out of her peripheral, she could see Fleur's eyes lingering angrily on her, and she felt some twisted sense of satisfaction.

At last, though, it was finished, and Hermione took her time packing up her things. Fleur didn't seem to notice her lagging, striding gracefully out of the room as if on some gray carpeted catwalk, and Septima finally smiled hesitantly at her.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione, if I had any idea this was going to happen-"

"It's fine, Professor. Really. Things happen, I know it wasn't your fault." Even as Hermione said this, she still felt a little bitter, although it wasn't directed at the woman in front of her.

"How are you adjusting to Professor Snape's class? Are you.." she was seemingly searching for the right word. "Handling it okay?"

Hermione wasn't, truth be told. Even just being back in a chemistry lab brought back memories of the past two years. While the lab itself was pleasant – reassuring almost, as it reminded her of the hours spent working with her old teacher, Professor Slughorn - it was the association with it that brought her distress. When she looked around and saw the locked-up cabinet full of small bottles, she could only think it was a combination of _that _bottle and _that _chemical and –

"I'm doing fine," she assured her, quietly. Septima seemed to struggle with accepting this, looking very much as if she'd like to continue to broach the issue. Hermione smiled, despite herself, grateful for the concern. "It isn't ideal, but it's not as bad as I thought it would be. I'm mostly distracted by Professor Snape, honestly."

Septima half-smiled, half-grimaced. "I've run into him a few times, and I've heard even more from some of my students. He's quite the character, isn't he?" Hermione snorted, mirth in her eyes as she looked at her professor.

"He's awful," she said boldly, shuffling her bag to her other shoulder. "He hasn't said anything to me yet that could even be _mistakenly _construed as being nice. How he manages to effectively teach students, I haven't figured out yet." Septima grinned now, chuckling to herself.

"Severus has a certain way about him. I've heard that once you get to know him, he isn't that bad. He's just guarded. With good reason," she added, more to herself than to Hermione.

She frowned. "What good reason could he possibly have for treating people the way he does?"

The older woman regarded her closely, eyebrows knitted together. She relented after a moment, speaking lightly.

"Oh, he's got his reasons. Try to bear in mind that he _is _very intelligent, and he's done much for this school. You might find a friend in him, even."

Hermione couldn't imagine anyone else she would less rather have as a friend, but she tried to humor her. Still, she couldn't keep the skepticism off of her face.

"Give him a chance. You'll be surprised at what you find," Septima continued, seeing Hermione's apprehension. Hermione nodded, lips pursed.

"I will try," she promised, her mind wandering to seeing Snape tomorrow and what fresh hell he would feel obliged to give her. _Yeah, friend. Unlikely chance. _

"You should get going now, I'm worried Miss Delacour will be back any moment to talk to me about the syllabus," her teacher said with an unpleasant expression on her face. She glanced behind Hermione and moved closer to her, lowering her voice. "I think she just likes to hear herself talk, to tell you the truth. I'm so sorry, Hermione. I argued with Minerva, but she wasn't having any of it. Something about the board."

Hermione looked away, feeling a little choked up. "Like I said, it's fine," she muttered out. "I have Professor Snape to keep me company." Septima quirked her lips, nodding at the door.

"I believe in you!" As Hermione turned and went towards the door, Septima looked thoughtful once more, and called out one more thing after her: "I've heard he likes cappuccinos. He prefers them dry, or so I've been led to believe."

"I'll keep that in mind, Professor."

* * *

Wednesday morning came, and Hermione didn't see Harry. She looked for him before Professor Flitwick's class, and tried to find him again after coming out of Trelawney's classroom, but to no avail.

Resigned, she made her way to Professor Snape's classroom, pausing in front of the door and debating with herself if she should go in. She put her hand on the knob, her heart beating wildly, and then withdrew it, crossing her arms protectively over herself instead.

Honestly, what's the worst that would happen to her? Okay, so he might make a snide comment or glare at her, but it wasn't like he was going to attack her or something.

She put her hand back on the doorknob. Or, maybe she should go use the restroom first. Yeah, that's it. She would go splash some water on her face, give herself a pep talk, an-

"Miss Granger, I do _not _have all day."

She spun around, gasping, her hand flying to her mouth to cover it. Professor Snape stood in front of her, close enough to reach out and touch. He was scowling.

"Professor, I'm sorry! I was just trying to remember if I forgot something in my last class," she stuttered out, heart thumping in her chest. Snape raised a dark eyebrow.

"You've been trying to remember for the past five minutes. I suggest that from now on you check your bag _before_ you show up at my classroom," he growled. She swallowed, nodding, heart still beating fast.

They stood a couple beats of her chest; him scowling down at her irritably and her, watching him with large eyes, waiting for him to speak.

He reached out a hand, eyes not leaving her face. She stiffened, holding her breath. _What was he doing_?

His arm continued to reach towards her, and for a split second she thought he was going to hurt her. At this proximity, when she could so clearly see his defined features, she wondered if she would have time to do anything. Her musings about his hands in his class Monday ran through her mind, an image of his long fingers wrapping themselves around her throat flickering behind her eyes.

She saw his face lean in and thought she could detect his scent – a woody, masculine thing that reminded her of camping trips with her parents when she was much younger. She shut her eyes, and before she knew it, he had slipped past her and into the classroom, the door now opened behind her.

It was like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on her. A sense of shame came over her, followed quickly by something akin to disgust.

_Honestly, _she thought to herself, dropping into the chair behind her desk. _What the hell is wrong with you? _

The class passed quickly. Despite her hopes, Snape was not in a much better mood than he was Monday. It seemed that he didn't just reserve his foul temper for her; he was willing to bite _anyone's _head off, if given a sufficient reason.

It didn't take much, she noticed, to give him a sufficient reason.

She thought of what Septima had said to her about the man currently pacing the front of the class as he talked. _Give him a chance, _she remembered her saying, and nearly snorted aloud. She chanced a glance at the foreboding professor, and he seemed to be berating a student for not having their copy of the textbook yet. He finally gestured towards a cabinet in the corner of the room and the student scuttled over to it, drawing out a battered copy of the required material. The student was a pretty girl with long black hair, who had turned an unfortunate shade of red at Snape's derision.

When the students were all fleeing the classroom, Hermione steeled herself and went to stand in front of Snape's desk. He didn't acknowledge her at first, but she stood her ground, clearing her throat. He looked up, lazily, regarding her with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm so glad you chose to stay with us throughout the lesson, Miss Granger." She felt the beginnings of a sharp retort form itself in her mouth, but she managed to keep it there.

"I apologize again, sir." When he made no comment, she continued. "I was just wondering if you had any work for me during my office hours. My first one is at four this afternoon."

"I'm well aware of your schedule for the day, considering I set it," he drawled, resuming writing. She didn't say anything. "As we've only had two classes thus far, I can't imagine anyone will have the need to come speak to you about the coursework. Though, students' collective incompetence _does _seem to grow every year, and therefore I should like you to remain available. I have administrative work for you. It will be in my office for you to pick up. Difficult as it may be, attempt to not linger outside my door this time."

That was a dismissal if anything ever was. Wordlessly, she spun on her heel and marched out of the classroom.

* * *

When she got far enough across campus that she didn't think he would be apt to run into her, she sat on the edge of a stone flowerbed and rested her head in her hands.

"Christ help me," she muttered, and sighed towards the chemistry building. A glance at her phone told her Ginny had texted her.

_Ginny Weasley: hey_

_Ginny Weasley: so like_

_Ginny Weasley: here's what I'm thinking_

_Ginny Weasley: 1., we go buy more wine tonight_

_Ginny Weasley: 2., profit? _

_Ginny Weasley: sound good? great!_

Hermione smiled despite herself.

_Hermione Granger: sorry, gin. i won't be home for a while. office hours start this afternoon. HELP_

She slid her phone back into her pocket and bit her lip, staring distractedly into the distance. Her mind was turning over with made-up scenarios of what could happen this afternoon. She decided quickly that none of them would be pleasant – but – what if?

Frowning, she thought back to Professor Slughorn. He had always had his favorites. Some of them by merit, others, by connection. Others, even, by sheer, absolute, utter sycophancy. What was it he had liked? Hermione immediately remembered the smell that clung to his pinstriped sports coats. _Crystallized pineapple. _

Her mind began to go faster, an idea on the tip of her tongue. She didn't know much about Severus Snape, except for his seemingly perpetual need to make her feel like the world's most idiotic graduate.

And then, a moment later, Septima's words came back to her in startling clarity:

_He likes cappuccinos._

* * *

_a/n: hello! thank you to everyone who reviewed. hermione has a plan! will it work? i always appreciate constructive criticism. or, nonconstructive criticism! i consider myself life's pinata. _

_also, i just wanted to give a shoutout to my best friend jaballini. this isn't the tale of jack sparrow... but i hope it makes you happy anyway. _


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